


To Win A Glass Heart

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Boys Kissing, Cinderella Elements, Derek Hale as Prince Charming, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Post-War, Prince Derek Hale, Princes & Princesses, War, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 19:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Prince Derek sneaks away from the palace to join the parade in the lower kingdom celebrating the end of the war. He never expected to find his true love there.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveyProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveyProphet/gifts).

> Happy birthday, Lovey. ❤
> 
> The graphic depictions of violence warning is just for the start of the first chapter.

There was a low rumble as an aircraft flew overhead, the sound tearing though Derek’s chest.

His pace slowed, his chest tightening and his stomach twisting in unease as he looked around.

Something was wrong.

From beyond the unending screams and raining gunfire, Derek heard the quiet rustling of fabric. He turned his eyes towards the sky and watched as several small lights blinked like twinkling stars as parcels—care packages—drifted down towards the crowd of soldiers on wavering parachutes.

The world fell silent, the only sound was the thundering beat of his heart pulsing in his ears.

He watched as the rest of his unit reached up for the parcels.

He opened his mouth to shout something when he saw one man reach up, his fingertips brushing the side of the care package.

It detonated.

The deafening rush of noise returned to him as the packages erupted in a chain of explosions.

Derek was hurled backwards.

He struck something solid, letting out a weak grunt before collapsing to the ground. His body ached, unmoving as the ground beneath him fell away and he sank into darkness.

He didn’t know how long he was unconscious, but the world around him was consumed by flames when he slowly blinked his eyes open. He watched through a blur of colours as one soldier carried unconscious bodies to safety.

He rose to his feet shakily, making his way past the barricade as he watched the man run to help the others; those closer to where the explosion had detonated.

Derek winced as his ears filled with a painful shrieking ringing sound. He blinked away the haze that clouded his vision and saw the man step over the twisted, bloody bodies, lifting a girl—no older than five years old—out of the carnage.

Derek felt sick, his gut churning as his blood ran cold in his veins. He swallowed hard against the bile that rose into his throat, burning him from the inside out as he stumbled forwards.

The soldier ran towards him, carefully laying the girl down before turning to Derek.

“Easy, kid,” he said, his gruff voice soft but firm.

Derek blinked, looking up at the man. He had thinning grey hair and weary green eyes. The patch sewn onto the chest of his uniform read J. Stilinski.

“I want to help,” Derek said, his ears ringing.

“Usually I’d object, but you’re the only one still standing and we need to get these people out of here,” Stilinski said, turning back towards the pile of bodies.

Derek followed him, his breath catching in his lungs. He fought back tears that burnt at his eyes.

The familiar streets of his kingdom were nothing more than a mess of smoking bricks and wood, crumbled ruins of familiar buildings. The cobblestone streets scorched as rivers of blood streamed through the cracks.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to throw up.

He wanted to run away and hide forever.

Slowly he lifted his eyes to look across the rest of the town, his vision now clear enough to notice the twisted bodies and smouldering corpses, bloody bodies of soldiers and civilians thrown about the streets by the blast and others buried beneath rubble.

Derek turned his attention back to Stilinski.

The man froze and looked down at something beneath his foot. His eyes flew open wide and he looked up at Derek.

“Stay where you are!”

Derek stopped, looking up at the man. “What’s wrong?”

“Secondary wave of explosives,” Stilinski replied.

“How do I get you out?” Derek asked.

“You can’t,” Stilinski said.

“I will,” Derek said with determination and finality. “Just tell me what I need to do.’

Stilinski let out a measured breath, glistening tears welling in his eyes.

“There’s nothing you can do… But…”

“But what?”

“I have a son,” he said. “If I don’t make it back, just tell I love him… and I’m proud of him.”

Derek didn’t reply.

He nodded slowly, taking one cautious step back, and then another.

He stopped, planting his feet.

“Tell him yourself,” Derek said.

He dug his heels into the ground and charged forward.

He slammed his body into the man, tackling him.

The explosive detonated.

Derek was thrown back, slamming into the ground with a solid thud.

He let out a weak groan as he pushed himself to his hands and knees, looking at the man who laid beside him on the old cobblestone road.

Stilinski pushed himself up onto his elbows, his face smeared with dirt and soot as he looked at Derek with wide green eyes.

“You saved me,” Stilinski said, shocked. “I owe you my life. I’m indebted to you.”

Derek offered him a weak smile, but his smile soon fell from his face. His body fell back against the ground. He laid still, staring up at the smoke-filled sky. His vision began to blue, darkness creeping in around the edges. His eyes drifted shut as his body weakened and he fell into the abyss.

The lavish ballroom had been adorned with decorations. The crystal chandeliers shimmered like nebulas, scattering light like stars across the room.

Long ribbons of flowing white fabric had been draped from the ceiling, radiating from the central point in the room and pinned back against the walls so that the middle dipped slightly and the ends cascaded down the walls like curtains of falling water.

The guests were gathered in the space, dressed in nice suits and gorgeous gowns—some of them were dancing on the dancefloor while others gathered in small crowds, talking quietly to each other.

Derek wore a glaring white suit, the jacket made of a fabric that had a detailed silver vine-like pattern. The collar of his jacket, the tabs of his shirt collar, and the rounded knot of his silky white tie were all bedazzled with heavy silver beads and glistening crystals. He wore a white vest, embroidered with pearly white thread and silver details.

It was a debutant ball, setup by Queen Talia to find her son a wife now that the war was over and the missing prince had returned. She even had a young lady in mind—Paige Krasikeva.

But Derek wasn’t interested in finding a wife.

His eyes drifted out the windows to where the dusk-lit town of the lower kingdom was lit by lanterns and strings of lights and alive with music and cheering as a parade streamed through the main street.

That was why he had disappeared—to fight for his people so that they would have a night like this.

He couldn’t explain that to anyone else; members of the royal family were forbidden from fighting in wars in case they were to die, leaving their throne up for grabs. But Derek couldn’t obey those rules. How could he claim to be a man of the people if he just stood by and sent his people to war?

So, he had run away. He signed up under an alias and fought with his people.

Derek looked back at the ballroom. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

He set down his champagne glass and made his way towards one of the large doors, stepping out of the ballroom unnoticed.

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside over the arm of a couch in the hallway. He loosened his tie and slipped it off, tossing it aside with his jacket. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt as he made his way down the hallway, letting the noise from the debutant ball fade away behind him as he left, unnoticed.

He grabbed a thick black woollen coat and pulled it on before stepping out into the cool night. He made his way past the palace gates and down the track through the woods that led to the lower town.

He stood in the shadows of an alleyway, watching as the parade marched through the streets. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched the faces of the villagers light up with joy.

In the centre of the parade was the one they had crowned King of the March—a man with thinning brown hair and a weary face creased by laughter lines. A plastic crown adorned with fake gems sat atop his head and a thick fur coat sat on his shoulders. He sat atop a throne on a float that cruised through the streets while others cheered.

He hadn’t seen him in months, but he’d never forget that man’s face.

John Stilinski.

The man who saved his life.

He smiled fondly as the parade float passed by.

He heard the shuffle of footsteps as someone walked up beside him.

“You know, it’s rude to not bow before your prince,” the stranger said.

Derek felt his stomach lurch, his heart skipping a beat as panic flooded his veins.

He turned to look at the young man standing beside him.

His dark brown eye caught the light of the strings of lanterns that hung overhead, swirling like pools of golden liquor. His moonlight-pale flesh was covered in moles that charted constellations across his skin. A plastic crown sat atop the tousled mess of his chestnut-brown hair, designed to look like a halo of interwoven branches and leaves, painted silver and decorated with glass diamonds that were fitted to look like mistletoe and blossoms.

Derek swallowed hard, shocked as he had to remember how to breathe.

“Forgive me your highness,” he said softly, bowing slightly to the young man as he fought the rising wave of laughter. A charming smile turned up the corners of his lips as he met the young man’s gaze. “I did not know.”

“I’ll pardon you this time,” the young man said, “but only if you learn to walk on your knees.”

Derek lifted his brow in surprise. “If you want me on my knees, your highness, you’ll have to buy me a drink first.”

The young man burst into a fit of laughter. After a while, he quietened down, smiling at Derek.

“If you don’t mind me asking, your highness,” Derek started slowly. “How did you become the prince?”

“My dad was crowned King of the March for his selflessness and actions in the line of duty,” he explained. “They crowned me prince because I was his son, and when I declined, they crowned me Prince of the March for aid and shelter I provided civilians during the war.”

“That sure is something to be proud of,” Derek said, unable to hide the admiration in his voice.

“I just did what I could,” he said, his eyes catching the light as he watched the parade pass by.

He turned to face Derek again.

“And you don’t have to keep calling me your highness,” the young man said, holding his hand out to Derek. “I’m Stiles.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he replied, shaking Stiles’ hand.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here,” Stiles said, his brows knitted together as he looked at Derek thoughtfully.

“I don’t come into town often,” Derek admitted. “Although, I wish I could more often.”

“If you’d like, I could show you around,” Stiles offered.

A soft smile turned up the corners of his lips. “I’d like that.”

The two of them walked through town, talking as they watched the parade march on, the celebrations rolling on into the night.

Stiles took him up to the lookout, staring out across the dark abyss that was the lower town in the middle of the night. It was a peaceful oblivion that stretched across to the horizon, a pool of onyx in which the few scattered houses, storefronts and streetlights that that glittered in the darkness mirrored the starry sky like a reflection on the surface of a lake. The streets were still lit by the lanterns and the music drifted into the night.

“It’s so strange,” Stiles mused to himself.

“What is?”

“I’ve known you for a few hours but it feels like I’ve known you forever,” Stiles answered.

A kind smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips.

“And yet I still want to know more,” Stiles continued. “I want to know you forever.”

Stiles’ face flushed bright red, his eyes flying open wide as he realised what he said.

“I can’t believe I said that out loud. I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Derek said softly, meeting Derek’s gaze. “I’d like to spend forever getting to know you more too.”

Stiles’ blush faded to a rosy pink that coloured his cheeks. He looked up at Derek, losing himself in the pale aventurine depths.

He felt his breath hitch in his throat, his heartbeat racing. He wanted nothing more than to touch his face, to run his fingers through his soft hair, to feel the warmth of Derek’s lips against his own.

Derek took a step closer, gently reaching out and brushing the tips of his fingers down Stiles’ sleeve. He leant in close.

Stiles tilted his chin, bringing his lips to Derek’s in a tender kiss.

Derek let his eyes fall shut as he cupped Stiles’ cheek, tilting his head and deepening the kiss as he melted into the warmth of Stiles’ touch.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered shut as he slid his arms up Derek’s chest and looped them around the man’s neck.

Derek drew back, the cool rush of air flooding his lungs as he slowly opened his eyes.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips.

He brought them back together again in a chaste kiss.

“Stiles!” a familiar voice called out.

Stiles went rigid, pulling back and turning slightly to see his father walk over to them.

An exasperated expression settled on the man’s face as he folded his arms over his chest and levelled his cold glare on his son. “Please tell me you didn’t put fireworks under the banquet table again.”

_Again_? Derek thought, lifting an eyebrow in surprise as he looked at Stiles.

“That depends,” Stiles started slowly. “Do you want me to tell the truth?”

John let out a heavy sigh and turned to Derek, the sternness of his face falling as a look of surprise and fondness. There was a faint white line below his eye—a scar from where the shrapnel from the explosion had hit him—and when he walked there was a stiffness in his right leg that left him with a limp.

Stiles looked from Derek to his father, his brows knitted together in confusion.

“John,” a woman with long dark hair called out. “We need your help in the Town Square.”

John let out a heavy sigh and said, “I’m coming.”

He looked back at Stiles. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Stiles smiled, feigning innocence as he watched his father leave.

“Fireworks under the banquet table?” Derek said after a moment.

“They weren’t lit,” Stiles tried to justify. “At least they weren’t when I put them there.”

Derek let out a quiet chuckle.

The tolling bell of the town clock ran out through the darkness.

Derek turned, his heart skipping a beat as the wrought iron hands of the old clock ticked into place.

Midnight.

“I have to go,” Derek said quietly.

“Why?” Stiles asked.

“It’s hard to explain.”

Stiles followed him back down the track towards the town centre. “Where are you going?”

“I have to go home.”

Derek lifted his right hand, wrapping his fingers around the ring on his finger. He pulled it from his hand and held it out, dropping it into the palm of Stiles’ hand before disappearing into the crowd of people that flooded the cobblestone street.

“Wait!” Stiles cried out after him, elbowing his way through the crowd as he struggled to keep up with the man.

The thundering explosions of fireworks drowned out his cries as he chased after him. He turned in circles, trying to find the strange man among the blur of faces and colours.

His feet slowed to a halt beneath him as he stood among the crowd. He carefully unfurled his fingers, looking down at the service ring that felt heavy in his hand.

A firework exploded overhead, the coloured light illuminating the engraved initials on the side of the ring.

_D H._

Derek returned to the palace, passing the ballroom and making his way up the large staircase and to his bedroom.

He shut the door behind himself, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

A sweet smile turned up the corners of his lips as he thought of Stiles, but his smile soon fell, his heart sinking as he thought of leaving him.

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Enter,” Derek said quietly.

His sister hurried into the room. She was dressed in an elegant steel grey dress with tones of purple in it. The strapless corset hugged her curves and showed off her sleek figure. The shiny silk was drawn across her corset at a sloping angle and pulled into her waist, where the fabric was gathered in tiered ripples that accentuated the split down the side of her dress. He knew she and their mother had argued over how revealing the dress was so Laura had agreed to wear a light grey shawl over her exposed shoulders.

“Where the hell have you been?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice low. “Mum is pissed.”

“I figured she would be,” Derek muttered, dragging his hand down his face. “And she’s about to be a whole lot more angry.”

“Why?” Laura asked, a hint of tense worry in her voice.

“Because I’m about to refuse the marriage proposal to Paige,” Derek answered.

“Why?”

“Because I have found someone else—someone who makes me happy.”

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Laura asked hesitantly.

“Because mum’s not going to like it.”

“You knew him, didn’t you?” Stiles asked, chasing after his dad as the man made his way through the street. “The way you looked at him, you knew him.”

Evidence of last night’s festivities filled the streets—the strings of lanterns still lining the street, banners and colourful flags being taken down. Store owners swept the confetti and broken streamers off the pavements out the front of their stores or pulled down the banners and lights that were strung up over their buildings.

“Dad!” Stiles called out, insistent as he fought his growing frustration.

“Miguel,” John answered. “His name is Miguel Juarez.”

“Miguel,” Stiles repeated back, shocked. “_The_ Miguel? The Miguel that saved your life?”

“Yes,” John replied, stopping to help a woman lift a crate of apples onto a table out the front of the store.

Stiles looked down at the service ring in his hand.

_D H._

“So why does his service ring have the initials D-H?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know,” John answered. “Maybe he entered the service under a different name? Maybe his service ring got mixed up with someone else’s ring in the hospital after the explosion.”

Stiles looked down at the ring in his hand, curling his fingers around it and holding it tight.

“I have to find him,” Stiles said, a hint of pleading and pain in his voice that made his father pull up short. “But I don’t know where to start.”

John let out a measure breath, looking at his son’s dejected expression.

“I’ll ask around,” he said quietly.

Stiles looked up at him, a glimmer of hope filling his dark eyes.

“I’ll help you find him,” he promised.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek let out a defeated sigh as he stepped out into the courtyard of the palace grounds.

He was dressed in a vibrant sapphire military jacket that was lined with golden trim. The stiff collar sat upright and framed his narrow throat, emphasising his firm jawline. He stepped over to the glossy black carriage that was hitched up to the gorgeous black stallions.

“Derek,” someone called out, making him jump.

Derek turned, looking at the young woman who walked his way.

Paige stood by their carriage, dressing in a gorgeous pastel pink gown. It was made to look like a cocktail-length underdress that was made of a thick, moulded fabric made to look like rippling waves. The scooped collar sat on the edges of her shoulders and the sleeves hung down slightly. The rest of her body was covered by a long draping sheet of pastel pink fabric that was pinned in place above her collarbone and hung down like a split skirt. The billowing fabric was gathered around her waist and held in place by a thick silver belt.

“Paige,” he greeted, smiling kindly. “I hope I haven’t offended you—“

“No,” Paige interrupted. “Not at all. Actually, I came to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Derek repeated back, his brows knitted together in confusion.

“You’re a good man,” Paige started. “But you’re not the one for me. I didn’t have the courage to stand up to my parents and say no, so thank you for having the courage to do that.”

A soft smile lifted up the corners of Derek’s mouth.

“I wish you all the best,” Paige said. “And I hope we can still be friends.”

“I’d like that.”

Paige offered him a friendly smile before turning to leave.

Moments later, Laura stepped out of the castle and made her way over to her brother’s side.

She was dressed in an elegant silk dress, the rippling fabric shifting between shades of indigo and violet. The asymmetrical strap sat atop her shoulder, laying like a sash across half her torso and trickling down into a billowing skirt that pooled around her feet. The exposed part of the torso what made of a skin-toned bodice that was embroidered with flowers and leaves that were the same colour as the rest of the dress. To balance out the silk strap of the asymmetrical strap, a slit ran up the opposing side of her skirt and exposed her slender legs.

“You look lovely,” Derek commented.

“And you look good for a dead man,” Laura replied, reaching out to pet the horse in front of the carriage.

“Is she really that mad?” Derek asked, taking a glance back at the castle, waiting for his mother to appear.

“She’s beyond mad,” Laura replied. “She’s livid.”

“Because I want to marry a man?”

“Because you want to marry a commoner,” Laura corrected. “Derek, I have no qualm with it, but you know how mum can be.”

Derek felt his heart sink.

“Just keep your head down for today,” Laura advised, stepping over to the side of the carriage.

Derek offered her his hand, helping her climb into the cart before following.

He felt sick as he sat there waiting for his mother, Queen Talia, to join them and climb into her carriage. His stomach was churning and tying itself in knots as he was overcome by waves of anxiety and guilt.

After a while the carriages lurched forward and drove out into the streets of London.

Derek smiled and waved, a practiced routine that, after years of repetition, he had perfected. It was a façade, a false joy that hid his true emotions.

The crowd cheered and applauded as the carriages rode through the streets.

It was a blur of faces and voices. At least it was until he spied one face that stood out among the others.

He froze.

The young man’s glittering amber eyes met Derek’s, his face full of emotion – anger, shock, sorrow and much more.

Derek’s smile fell from his face.

Stiles.

Stiles spent the whole day, going from store to store, asking everyone he could if they knew of a man called Miguel Juarez—to no avail. No one knew of a man by that name, nor did they know anyone who served in the war with the initials DH.

He was starting to lose faith, wondering if he’d ever see the man again.

The townsfolk began to gather in the streets, waiting with excited anticipation for the royal carriages to come down the street.

Stiles took a step back, sinking into the shadows of a nearby storefront. He looked down at his hand, carefully unfurling his fingers as he looked down at the service ring.

The world fell silent around him. He didn’t hear the cheering crowd or the sound of the carriage wheels on the cobblestone streets.

“Stiles.”

His father’s voice cut through the mist in Stiles’ head, pulling him back to reality.

John nodded over his shoulder. “I think I found him.”

Stiles hurried over to his father’s side, his face lit with joy.

He stopped beside his father, his smile falling from his face as he followed the man’s gaze.

His eyes trailed to the carriage, to the young man who sat in it.

He had thick black hair and a soft beard that cast a shadow across his jaw. His wide-set eyes were pale, the colour of his irises shifted in the light; from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – a mirage of colour he hadn’t seen in the glow of the lanterns last night.

It was him.

A wave of emotion crashed over Stiles—shock, anger, betrayal, and confusion twisted his stomach into knots as he met the young prince’s gaze.

_D.H._ Stiles thought. _Derek Hale._


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, his pale eyes full of pain as he met Stiles gaze. “I should have told you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Stiles asked. There was no anger in his voice, only confusion.

Derek half-shrugged.

“I was tired of the snobbery and manners,” Derek answered. “You were the first person to talk to me as if I were a normal person.”

He bowed his head.

“I ran away from the ball because I needed to breathe. Then I ran into you, and… I don’t know if I believe in fate, but there had to be a reason I ran into you. You were the first person to make me smile in years, the first person I could open my heart up to. And I had such a good time with you, I was scared to tell you who I was,” Derek admitted. “I didn’t want it to change.”

Stiles nodded slowly. His dark eyes looked across the room at the door that led to his father’s study, where his father and Queen Talia were discussing what would happen next.

“If you could marry me, would you?” Stiles asked.

“In a heartbeat,” Derek confessed. “I’d give up everything if it meant I had a chance of being with you.”

He paused for a moment, anxiety tightening his chest as he asked, “What about you?”

“Without hesitation,” Stiles answered honestly.

Derek let out a sigh of relief, a soft smile turning up the corners of his lips.

Stiles bolted upright, his eyes wide with alarm.

“I’m meant to offer drinks,” he said, rising from his seat and hurrying towards an open doorway.

The smile fell from Derek’s face as he turned to look at his sister who was sitting in an armchair nearby.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” Laura said, flashing a charming smile. She sat forward in her chair, looking her brother in the eye. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

Derek nodded.

“If this you want—if this is what makes you happy…”

“It is,” Derek said with finality.

“Then I’ve got your back,” she said.

Derek offered his sister a kind smile.

They waited.

It felt like an eternity.

The tension in the room seemed to grow with every minute that passed.

Laura did her best to keep them calm, holding a casual conversation with Stiles and dropping a few embarrassing stories about Derek that made the young prince’s face turn red and left Stiles laughing.

After a while, the door opened.

The three of them rose to their feet as Queen Talia and John stepped back into the room.

Talia levelled her composed gaze on her son, letting out a measured breath. “You have my blessing to marry whomever you wish.”

Derek’s shoulders dropped, a sigh of relief falling past his lips as a smile turned up the corners of her lips.

“But—“ Talia added, the single word enough to drive a spike of fear through Derek’s chest. “—you have to convince Stiles’ father to bless your marriage.”

Derek swallowed hard and nodded.

He wanted nothing more than to be with Stiles, and he would do anything to prove that.

Talia turned to Stiles, her stern composure melting away as she smiled at him.

“Stiles,” she said, her voice full of sweetness. “Why don’t you and I take a walk and leave Derek and your father to talk?”

Stiles shot Derek a concerned look.

Derek smiled at him, trying to hide how uncertain and scared he was.

It must have looked convincing because Stiles smiled back. He bowed to the Queen and followed her out into the street. Laura trailed after them, leaving Derek alone in the room with John.

John nodded towards the dining table nearby, sitting down across from Derek. His green eyes bore holes through Derek as he held his stern composure.

He asked question after question, and Derek did his best to answer them.

“Why do you think you deserve my son?” John asked.

“In all honesty, I don’t,” Derek admitted, his heart sinking a little at the realisation. “Stiles is kind, he’s patient and understanding. He has a good heart. I think he’s better than I deserve. But I love him. And I’ll do anything to become the man he deserves.”

John sat back in his chair slightly, settling into silence as he thought over Derek’s respose.

“I served in the war,” he started slowly. “Days before peace was declared, my unit was killed in an explosion. I survived. I tried to get as many people to safety as I could, but as I did, I stepped on a mine. The pressure plate triggered and I froze. I would have died that day if not for a man named Miguel Juarez.”

Derek swallowed hard.

“He saved my life,” John said. “And in return, I swore to pay him back.”

There was a moment of quiet.

John’s weary green eyes met Derek’s.

“You could have called in that favour at any point,” John pointed out. “Why didn’t you?”

Derek opened his mouth, ready to object and say he wasn’t Miguel, but lying would get him nowhere. He let out a sigh and dropped his gaze.

“I’m here to earn your trust, to ask for your blessing, not to take your son from you by force,” Derek answered. “Besides, you owe me nothing. I joined the army because I couldn’t stand the thought of my people dying. I can’t claim to care about my people if I stand by while they go to war. I enlisted under an alias because the law is that the members fo the royal family can’t serve in the army in case they die in battle and leave the kingdom without leadership. I never meant to lie to you or to deceive you.”

Derek took a second to gather himself.

“I don’t need you to repay me—I don’t _want_ you to repay me,” he said. “I saved you because it was the right thing to do, because I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I had walked away and let you die.”

John face didn’t change, his composure unwavering.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever measure up, if I’ll ever be good enough for your son,” Derek admitted. “But I do know that I love him, and I will do everything I can—every day—to let him know that… I don’t want to take him from you and I don’t want you to give me your blessing as a way of repaying me.”

Derek dropped his gaze, tears welling in his eyes—streaking his vision and turning the world into a blur of colour and light.

“I love your son,” Derek said honestly. “I love Stiles. I don’t know how I can prove it to you, but I’ll try…. Even if it takes me years… ‘Till my dying breath, I will find a way to prove to you that I love him.”

John nodded.

“Alright,” the man said suddenly, rising from his seat. “You have my blessing.”

Derek looked up at him, shocked.

“You’re a good man, Derek,” John said quietly. “And I would be honoured to have you as a son-in-law.”

A sigh of relief fell past Derek’s lips, a smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” Derek whispered breathlessly, glistening tears rolling down his cheek. “Thank you.”


	4. Epilogue

Months later, they were married.

The palace gardens were full of blossoming flowers, the thick bushes of crisp white and velvety roses, clusters of pale lavender and blue lilies, bouquets of lilies of the valley, and vines of draping flowers that were coiled around the pillars and railings of the arbours .

Seats had been lined up in rows, all facing the small wooden platform by the lake. There stood Stiles and Derek, holding hands and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.

They were both dressed in fine suits with a small cluster of blue and white flowers were pinned to their lapels. A silver crown with embedded emeralds and jade sat atop Derek’s raven black hair. Stiles had one too, but his decorated with diamonds and pearls.

When they spoke, their voices were soft, as if they were talking to each other rather than to the crowd of family and friends who gathered to watch the union.

“I, Stiles Stilinski, take you, Derek Hale, to be my husband from this day forth. Together or apart, we will always be united. One life, one love, one destiny. I am yours, my heart and my soul, and I will love you until the day I die.”

He slid the small golden ring onto Derek’s finger, his hand lingering there for a second as he gently brushed his thumb across the man’s hand.

Derek smiled and blushed, biting his lip slightly as he replied, “I, Derek Hale, take you, Stiles Stilinski, to be my husband – my one and only – from this day forth. I promise to be by your side, to grow and become the man you deserve, and to love you until the day I die.”

Derek took Stiles’ hand in his own and slid a matching ring onto Stiles’ finger.

There was a moment of quiet before John – standing before them as the minister – pronounced them married, pausing for a moment before finally saying, “You may kiss.”

The crowd erupted in joyous applause as Derek leant forward, cupped Stiles’ cheek and brought his lips to Stiles’ in a tender, loving kiss.

Derek helped Stiles up into the carriage, the cart decorated with thick vines of the white roses and sprigs of angel’s breath that were coiled around the black rails. He climbed into the carriage beside him, craning his neck to press a tender kiss to Stiles’ lips.

The carriage jolted them, making them both laugh as the stallions trotted on into the streets. Crowds gathered through the kingdom, tossing flowers, petals and confetti into the air as they passed.

“Oh, I forgot,” Stiles said, turning to face Derek. He took Derek’s hand in his own and pulled something out of his pocket.

Derek saw a glint of sliver before Stiles slid the ring onto Derek’s hand.

He looked down, recognising the familiar service ring with his initials engraved in it.

“I still haven’t learnt how to walk on my knees,” Derek said quietly. He leant in close to Stiles’ ears and whispered, “But, for you, I would gladly learn.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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